


blaze it

by architecture_in_f1ll0ry



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Frottage, I have No Excuse, M/M, Modern AU, Peer Pressure, aside from the gc made me do it, friends to lovers fluff and filth, shout out to the 2020 zukka renaissance, this is some self-indulgent trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architecture_in_f1ll0ry/pseuds/architecture_in_f1ll0ry
Summary: Zuko is stressed and overworked and Sokka knows just the solution. Unrelated, Toph keeps getting herself banned from local establishments.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Azula/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 886





	blaze it

**Author's Note:**

> writing new atla fic in 2020! ok, why not 
> 
> cw jk rowling :/ and early aughts youtube video references. did I mention this was self-indulgent?

“Move, I’m gay.”

“I will pay you so much money to stop saying that,” Zuko grumbles, scowling at Sokka’s naked back, feeling himself warm nonetheless at the brief touch as he is lightly shoved out of the way for the bacon container. Sokka is a man on a mission in the morning, and that mission usually had something to do with Zuko’s habit of waking up obscenely early and making breakfast. That is, when he’s home. 

“Really? How much?” Sokka wonders, turning to regard Zuko with a playful, then critical eye. “Please don’t tell me you slept in the library again.” 

Zuko snorts, which turns into a yawn, so wide his jaw cracks. “I...slept in the library again.”

“Zuko.”

“Don’t—I know.” Zuko rubs his eyes, turns back to where he’d been dumping an unhealthy amount of coffee grounds into the machine. He didn’t actually need a reminder that he was a frumpy, exhausted-looking mess, especially when his roommate and best friend came tumbling out of bed and down the stairs like a young gleaming god, all gorgeous brown skin and firm muscles and gently tousled bed head that falls distractingly into his cerulean eyes. “In two weeks, this will be over and I can be a person again.” He stares unblinkingly at the can of Café Bustelo he’s holding before he remembers what he’s doing. He closes the lid of the machine and bends and squints to adjust the settings.

Sokka clucks his tongue in that stupid, matronly way of his, and slumps against the counter, way closer to Zuko than he needs to be. He takes a bite out of a piece of bacon, chewing gratefully, then pauses, staring at it. “Wait, so you pulled another all-nighter to study, and you still picked up breakfast on your way home?”

Zuko, finally having restarted his brain long enough to get the coffee machine going, mirrors Sokka’s slouching position against the counter, deciding to forego the usual _should I should I not_ internal battle that’s waged every time Sokka offers this kind of casual affection, and just drops his head onto the slightly taller man’s shoulder. It’s warm and smooth and broad and unfortunately, just overall goddamn perfect. “It’s just breakfast,” he says finally, closing his eyes, and Sokka huffs a small laugh. A warm breeze flows in from the window that’s open over the sink, and Zuko just enjoys the small luxury of the moment, despite how physically shitty he feels.

Being stupid in love with your best friend is such an exquisite agony: agony, because while said best friend does not actually ever skimp on said casual affection—and never has—it’s still sometimes a struggle for Zuko to accept, feeling the way he does. But he has to admit to himself, as he listens to Sokka’s rhythmic chewing, the soft gurgle of the coffee machine, in their cozy little apartment kitchen with the uneven corner tiles, that his moments of hesitation have all but petered out in recent memory. Not when there are this many years of mutual love and trust and respect between them, not when Sokka has consistently been the person Zuko doesn’t need to really explain himself to; at least, in the way he often despairs of doing with other people. When Sokka is one of the only people able to meet Zuko right where he’s at, their wildly differing personalities and neuroses assembling itself into the most complex jigsaw puzzle that is, against all odds, a perfect fit. And Zuko needs to stop internally rhapsodizing about Sokka while he’s half-asleep on his shoulder, it’s too sad.

Does Sokka have an inkling of Zuko’s quiet longing? Would their friendship be ruined, if he knew? Or does he, perhaps, possibly, return Zuko’s feelings? All questions that smack him in the face first thing in the morning and bully him to sleep at night. 

Theoretically, at least, since these days, sleep was spotty when it did come and didn’t offer much in the way of real rest.

“Whatever. Don’t make me sic Katara on you,” Sokka threatens, his voice sounding slightly closer, and Zuko pictures his head turned and tilted slightly down in his direction, imagines feeling the soft press of lips in his hair next. It doesn’t come, but it’s nice to imagine. “She’ll chew your ass out for not getting your requisite six hours.”

Zuko snorts. “Katara doesn’t have a moral leg to stand on; she’s doing an ICU residency. I’m probably getting more sleep than her.”

_“I_ know that, but has it ever stopped her from scolding any of us before?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, but I don’t even feel right arguing with you about it right now. And you know I love to argue. That’s how tired you look.” Sokka jostles his shoulder slowly before moving away, crossing the kitchen to open a cabinet, pull out a mug. Zuko cracks his eyes open and doesn’t even realize how blatantly he’s staring at the play of muscles in Sokka’s back as he stretches one arm upwards, at the little divot in the base of his spine, at the way the morning sunlight washes across his skin until he’s caught. Sokka gives him an odd little smile as Zuko blinks quickly and shakes his head, trying to make it look as if he’d just zoned out. 

“I get it, I get it.”

“Anyway, you need to get some rest for real, because everyone’s coming over tonight and you _know_ how your sister gets. No bailing.”

Zuko groans, accepting the steaming cup Sokka gives him with a nod of thanks. “Say less.” He takes a sip—he’s always liked his coffee black and piping hot—and releases a grateful moan, a bit louder than he’d intended. “Wait, don’t you normally have rehearsals on Thursdays?”

When he looks up, Sokka is turning quickly around to poke further into the takeout bag, but Zuko catches a glimpse of his face, which is curiously flushed. “Uhhh, nope,” he replies, a bit too chipper. “Rosalind had to fly home for an emergency wedding, so we just moved it to Monday when she’s back.” Aside from pursuing his masters in mechanical engineering, Sokka is a beloved regular in the university’s theater troupe—this season’s production is _As You Like It._ A far cry from the drunken night Suki and Azula had successfully convinced Sokka to participate in the hazing ritual for “virgins” at the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ they’d attended as undergrads (Zuko summarily refused, which everyone expected)—a stirring performance from Sokka that plagued Zuko’s dreams and showers for months afterward, and that had likely contributed to Sokka discovering his love of the stage. 

But he’s not thinking about orgasms, real or simulated, right now. “What the hell is an _emergency wedding?”_ Zuko frowns, peering over Sokka’s shoulder worryingly. “Don’t take all of those hash browns.”

“That’s...actually a really good question.” Sokka shrugs, checks the time, and reaches up to tug lightly on Zuko’s low ponytail. “Welp, these freshmen brats won’t teach themselves. Can you promise me that you’ll take a nap sometime today? Please?” he asks, the playfulness of his tone somewhat undercut by the genuine concern in his eyes. Zuko resists the urge to squirm and avert his gaze, feeling uncomfortably _seen,_ as always.

“I have a 25 page paper to write by Sunday night, so, probably not.” Zuko doesn’t believe in lying.

Well, except for The Lie. He doesn’t count that one anymore.

Sokka frowns, sighs. “We’re finding you a solution. You can’t live like this.” He narrows his eyes at Zuko, taking his mug and taking a sip, as he always does. “Drink some water, too.”

“Go shower, stop mothering me.” Zuko loves it, god help him. Sokka just tosses him a wink, handing back his coffee before heading upstairs, humming something off-key below his breath. 

//

So apparently when Sokka said _we’re finding you a solution,_ it was a threat he planned to make good on, same day.

“The hell is that,” Zuko says flatly, many hours later, after Sokka breezes into his room to drop three small tan cylinders onto his desk—more specifically, onto his keyboard. He peers even closer, then shakes his head. “Drugs? No.”

Sokka sighs, lips twitching as he regards Zuko for a moment, repressing the urge to roll his eyes. How the hell he ended up with such a clueless, straight-edge, stick-in-the-mud for a best friend, he will never know. But the fact of the matter is, something’s gotta give. Zuko has always been the anxious, stressy type, too focused on meeting his own impossibly high standards of success to take proper care of himself, and Sokka can’t stand to watch it anymore. The man needs _one_ good night’s sleep, at the very least.

“It’s _barely_ drugs. They’re just, like, leaves. You familiar with tea?”

Zuko shakes his head again, raising his arms above his head in a tight stretch, giving Sokka a stern side eye from beneath his wire-rimmed glasses, which he wears only for reading and writing. His hair is in a sloppy bun on the top of his head, and Sokka resists the urge to bury his fingers in it. Zuko’s hair is too tempting to be allowed; it’s frankly offensive. “These are not tea leaves. These are...leaves that you inhale.”

“Yes…” Sokka takes in the small pinch between Zuko’s eyebrows and looks over at the computer screen, which is glaring uncomfortably bright in the semi-dark room. He decides to change tacks, for the moment. “Making progress?"

“A bit,” Zuko says, momentarily displacing his glasses as he rubs his hands over his face. He doesn't object when Sokka comes to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder, but he does tense as Sokka places his broad hands on his shoulders. A moment later, he's positively melting when they begin kneading the knots out of the tight muscle, an unfortunate result of sitting in the same hard-backed chair for hours on end. “I’ve been stuck for the past hour and a half,” Zuko admits, eyes falling shut as he tips his head to the side, exhaling as Sokka’s clever fingers dig in even firmer, right where he needs it. 

Sokka looks a bit closer at the minuscule number in the bottom right corner of the screen— he's midway through page 11—and continues his ministrations, gratified by the way Zuko slumps forward, pliant under his touch. “Take a break,” he suggests lightly.

“It’s due in a few nights, I have a ton more research to do, and I still have those junior econ papers to grade.” He glances over at the thick pile of papers sitting in the corner of his desk with a sigh.

“I’ll switch co-op shifts with Aang tomorrow morning and help you grade.”

“Wh—how would that work?” Zuko glances back at Sokka with a frown. “What do you know about qualitative economics?”

“I know that it sounds boring as shit—”

“Rude.”

“But I’m brilliant, just show me the rubric and walk me through it, I can catch on. C’mon, teamwork makes the dream work. Stop working for tonight." His voice dips low, cajoling. "You’re, like, _unbelievably_ tense, man.”

Zuko opens his mouth to argue, and just expels a shaky sigh instead when Sokka’s thumb presses into another tender spot. “Fine,” he mumbles, sliding his laptop forward and out of the way before pillowing his arms on his desk, resting his head between them as Sokka makes deep circular motions against the top of his spine. “Uhh, _wow,_ s’really good.” 

Sokka’s face warms at the muffled admission, but he doesn’t falter, entertaining a brief fantasy about coaxing Zuko up and out of the chair, tugging his worn little league SUN WARRIORS ‘98 t-shirt up and off, pressing him face down into his immaculately made bed and going to town on that lovely expanse of pale skin, maybe with some of the almond oil that Zuko likes to use in his hair. And then he stops that thought right in its tracks, because that way lies madness. “Besides, everyone’s gonna get here soon,” he says quietly, loath to disrupt the peaceful moment, but this reminder is as much for himself as it is for Zuko. “You good with Greek takeout?”

Zuko sighs, which eases into a gentle hum when Sokka’s knuckles dig out a knot near his left shoulder blade. “Mm-hmm. The usual, no tzatziki.”

“Cool, that’s extra for me.” Sokka gives his shoulders a final squeeze, then thinks, fuck it, giving in to the temptation to tangle his fingers in Zuko’s bun, jostling it with a playful shake. “See you downstairs.”

//

“—problem with that, so then I cordially invited him to lick my five three blind ass.”

_“Lick?”_

“I said what I said.”

“So anyway, that’s how Toph got banned from Shake Shack today.”

“Seriously, Toph, _again?”_ Zuko laughs as he rounds the corner into the living room, having spent maybe the tiniest bit of extra time adding to his paper before finally feeling satisfied with a stopping point.

“Zuzu! Took you long enough.” Zuko grunts as Azula pitches herself at him, returning the too-tight hug, grimacing when she pulls away to grin widely, pinch his cheek. 

“Ow! Don’t call me that.”

“What are those!"Suki yells, sitting up from where she’d been reclined on the couch, pointing at Zuko’s right hand with a delighted, scandalized expression. 

“Oh. Here, you can have these back,” Zuko says, extending his palm to Sokka, who’s sitting cross legged on a squashy chair, nursing a beer. He looks at the joints in Zuko’s hand, up to Zuko’s face, and shakes his head in mock confusion, shrugging.

“Never seen those a day in my life.”

Zuko just stares at Sokka, who's committed to his faux-innocent expression. Oh good, he's _acting._ “Sok—”

“Oh my god, I thought this day would never come. Zuko’s smoking weed?” Azula laughs, plucking one from his hand and examining it, then glancing back at him, impressed. “I didn’t know you could roll like this, what the fuck.”

"Proud of you, kid," Toph beams.

“I didn’t, and I don't, because they’re not mine,” Zuko protests, rolling his eyes and pushing past his sister to make his way to the kitchen, dropping the other two joints onto the coffee table on the way. “Sokka, stop lying to our friends. Toph, stop cursing out bar and restaurant owners, we’re never going to be able to leave our homes again.” He drums his fingertips against the surface of Aang’s phone as he passes.

“You just sent an eggplant emoji to my thesis advisor, so thanks for that.”

“To be fair, Chipotle can barely be called a restaurant,” Toph muses, raising her arms as Azula resettles on the couch with her head in Suki’s lap, her feet in Toph’s. “And any grimy ass dive called _Crusty’s_ doesn’t deserve our patronage.”

“Great Zombie cocktails, though,” Sokka pipes up, stretching out an arm and crooking his fingers at Azula, who’s located a lighter and is taking a deep, meditative inhale of one of the joints. 

“Hey, there’s an order here,” Suki reminds him, dexterously extending a leg to jab his knee with her socked toe. _Dancers._ “Aang, full offense," she begins slowly, accepting the joint from Azula and taking a pull, continuing in a tight voice, "But why the hell are you texting your thesis advisor after eight on a Thursday night?” She releases the smoke through her nose while fixing him with a suspicious look. Sokka turns too, eyes narrowed.

“Great question, Sook!”

“I’m thinking of changing my thesis, and she’s horrible at email,” Aang responds mildly, before he looks up again to find half-accusing stares on him. “If you guys seriously think I’m cheating on Katara with _Yangchen,_ you’ve all lost your goddamn minds. Thanks,” he says, as Zuko returns and hands him a beer.

“Such _language_ from the divinity student,” Toph laughs, propping her bare feet up on the coffee table, which Zuko immediately leans over to knock back to the ground. “What are you changing your thesis to?” 

“Well, I was wrestling with the notion of mortal revenge, on a preconscious, or I guess, sort of _proto-spiritual_ level, and I wondered whether—”

“Never mind, I just realized I don’t care.”

Azula snorts, eyes closed as Suki combs her fingers through her hair. “Aang, I’m a huge proponent for mortal revenge; feel free to use me as a reference.”

Aang and Zuko exchange brief amused glances, and Aang nods in sarcastic agreement. “I’ll...definitely keep that in mind, Azula, thanks!”

“I’m good,” Zuko tells Sokka, at the persistent tap on his arm. Sokka tilts his head sideways and pouts, eyes wide and beseeching. “N—don’t—do _not_ give me that look.”

“It’s because he can’t resist it,” Suki whisper-yells to no one in particular. Azula sits up, looking on with interest.

“Are you _positive_ you don’t want a good night’s sleep?” Sokka wheedles, waggling the smoking joint between his fingers enticingly. “I swear, you will not get addicted.”

“That’s not—” But it is, Sokka knows that’s always been one of Zuko’s main concerns, especially after everything with his mom. He exhales through his nose sharply, keeping his eyes trained on Sokka. When had he ever led Zuko astray before? “I _cannot_ be out of commission tomorrow, you know that. I just don’t think it’s the best time—”

“Oh my _god,_ Zuzu, just smoke it, you’ll be fine!” Azula bursts out, and angles her head up to Suki to hear what she’s whispering into her ear before the two of them burst into merry giggles.

“Oh _fuck_ yes, I _love_ peer pressuring Zuko,” Toph chimes in, beating the side of the couch with her fist and chanting. “Do it! Do it!”

“You are all the worst,” Zuko groans, eyeing the glowing tip of the joint with apprehension and then grabbing it out of Sokka’s hand before it can ash on the rug, holding it over an empty beer can on the coffee table and tapping the middle, the way he’s seen Sokka do. “Fine! Fine.” His lips twitch when an immediate cheer goes up, and he just shakes his head, then glances over at Aang with a somewhat pleading expression.

“You’re our collective conscience, and you’re just going to let them corrupt me? Wait, what—”

Because Aang is shaking with laughter, turning his phone so the screen faces Zuko, where Katara, still in her surgical cap, is grinning at him over Facetime with a fork full of salad lifted to her lips. “Hey Zuko! I hope Sokka is planning to shotgun this for you.”

“To _what?”_ Zuko demands while Suki begins choking and Azula nearly falls off the couch from laughter. He glances over at Sokka, who’s turning curiously red, and then glares at Aang’s iPhone suspiciously. “Forget I asked.”

“Ignore her,” Sokka grinds out, sitting forward to make a horrible face at Katara behind Zuko’s back.

“Excuse you, I’m a medical professional!”

“Okay, okay, so I just, like, inhale—?” Zuko hates how stupid he feels, and spares a second to wish he was doing this alone for the first time, or better yet, with Sokka, who would probably also laugh at him but in that particular way of his, when his eyes soften and he gives Zuko that dopey little grin that makes him feel a lot less concerned about his own pride. But his friends are fun, if pushy and kind of rude, and now that he’s committed, he’s ready to have this be one less weird difference between him and the rest of them.

“Not too hard, but yes. Hold the smoke in for a second or two, then release it.” Sokka watches him closely as he complies, his palm connecting solidly with his back when Zuko immediately starts coughing.

_“Blaaargh,”_ Zuko croaks, taking a giant swig of his beer as he extends the joint to Aang, who shrugs and takes it. “That was weird.”

“How do you feel?” Azula asks curiously. “Look at my big brother, all grown up and doing recreational drugs!”

“Fine,” Zuko replies immediately, then blinks, and blinks again. “Well. Good, but like, ummm...” His head feels like it's full of clouds, and his limbs are suddenly heavy, as if filled with sand. It's a strange but pleasant feeling, and he turns to look at Sokka, whose eyes are still on him, a small smirk on his lips. They’re good lips, Zuko has always thought, full and curved like a Cupid’s bow. And they look very soft. When he manages to drag his gaze back upwards, he realizes he’s been silently staring for way too long at Sokka's mouth, and everyone is still watching him. Well, except Toph.

“Christ,” he hears Suki mutter, and then the doorbell rings.

“Finally, I’m starving!” Toph exclaims as the moment is shattered, and Zuko flounders a bit, blinking, as Sokka rises to answer the door. “Pass that dank shit this way, Twinkle Toes."

“I’m getting napkins, they never give us enough,” Suki announces as she stands and stretches, bending neatly in half to rest the top of her head on the ground before straightening up, making her way to the kitchen. “You alright, my friend?” she grins down at Zuko, who is gazing into space, fiddling with the pull-tab on the top of his can of beer. He looks back up at her, lips spreading into an easy smile, and she laughs. “That would be a yes. Welcome to the dark side.”

“Dinner is served!” Sokka proclaims grandly as he re-enters the room bearing three large takeout bags. “Everyone owes me like sixteen bucks. Except you, Aang, cuz I need you to cover my shift at the co-op tomorrow,” he says, setting down the bags and opening them. “Please.”

Aang sighs, shooting Sokka a stony look. “What time?” Suki comes back in and sets down the roll of paper towels before returning to the couch, dropping a kiss onto Azula’s forehead.

“Nine to eleven. I’ll return the favor, pinky swear!” 

“Yeah, fine. Azula, hands _off_ my grape leaves—”

“You good?” Sokka murmurs to Zuko, sitting beside him on the ground and jostling him with his shoulder. He still isn’t fully recovered from the way that Zuko had looked at him before he left the room, nor, if he’s being honest, from Zuko’s easy surrender beneath Sokka’s fingers earlier in his room. He can’t shake the feeling that they might finally be coasting toward some sort of crossroads, and it stokes the flames that have been set on a steady simmer for the past however many years into a growing blaze, warming him from within. Zuko nods, unwrapping the foil and wax paper from his gyro, beaming with contentment before he bites into it.

“Really good,” he says with bulging cheeks, and Sokka feels his heart expand about three sizes in his chest with fondness, taking an indulgent moment to just _look_ at Zuko, at the relaxed way he’s seated, one leg outstretched beneath the coffee table and the other bent at the knee; the way his hair, released from his earlier bun, spills in gentle waves over his shoulders; the way his t-shirt clings tightly to his frame, riding up when he reaches across the table for something, revealing the tiniest bit of the intricately rendered dragon tattoo near the base of his spine that he’d gotten two years ago in Japan. (Sokka’s corresponding phoenix is stretched across his right calf). When Zuko retrieves whatever he’d been reaching for, Sokka drags his eyes away long enough to realize he’s got a small tub of tzatziki in his palm.

“I thought you didn’t want any!” he complains, and Zuko just gives him a small smile, placing it on the table right in front of Sokka.

“I got it for you.”

“Alright, get a room, we’re eating here,” Toph complains, and then Azula is turning on the TV and navigating to Spotify to put on her favorite Sleigh Bells album, and the rest of the night passes in a haze of more weed, increasingly nostalgic songs, and shouts of laughter. By the time all of the takeout containers and beer cans are swept into the trash and recycling, respectively, and Suki and Azula stumble out, drunk and giddy and pawing at each other—forever the last to leave—Zuko is sprawled across the couch, eyes heavy-lidded as Sokka locks the front door and shuts off the hallway and kitchen lights as he makes his way back into the living room. 

“What time is it?” Zuko wonders, scrubbing both hands through his hair, yawning. Sokka plops down on the couch beside him, leaning over to tap the screen of his phone before settling back, bringing the remote with him.

“Quarter after eleven. You tired?” he asks, clicking through the streaming channels aimlessly, chancing a glance over at him. Zuko’s eyes are on the screen, and he shakes his head.

“Sort of, but also no.” Zuko looks down, distracted, as Sokka brings his legs up to sit criss-cross style, zeroing in on the small hole in the knee of his sweats, revealing a circle of brown skin underneath. He unthinkingly presses the pad of his thumb against it, and Sokka looks down at his hand, then up at Zuko, smiling quizzically. 

“We can’t all be trust fund babies with impeccable wardrobes,” he jokes, working hard to keep his voice steady while his pulse races at the unexpected touch. Zuko just snorts and rolls his eyes, reaching out for the half smoked joint on the table, the final one.

“Where’s the lighter?”

Sokka gives him a cocky grin. “Well, well, well. How the turntables...”

God, Zuko was so gone off of this idiot. “Fine, you may have had a point,” he admits, spotting the small metallic gleam tucked halfway into the cushion on Sokka’s left side and pointing. “I do feel more relaxed. There it is, can you get it?”

Sokka obeys, bringing it to the tip of the joint that’s pressed between Zuko’s lips and igniting the small flame, his gaze flickering up to Zuko’s, who’s watching him as he inhales. He remembers Katara’s tease about shotgunning and drops his eyes back down to Zuko’s mouth, now pursed and releasing the smoke so slowly it curls upwards between them in lazy spirals. Sokka swallows, watching Zuko track the movement of his throat, and feels beads of sweat break out across his lower back. He takes the smoking roach and takes a deep pull to occupy his mouth and hands, to stop himself from doing anything else with them. He offers it wordlessly back to Zuko when he’s done, but the other man just shakes his head, his expression easy and open, eyes even heavier. Sokka’s been watching him slowly unwind all night, but Zuko is never so unguarded as when it’s just the two of them, so he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised when Zuko waits until Sokka extinguishes the joint in a sage holder before burrowing beneath his arm, gathering close enough that he’s pillowed against Sokka’s side, head pressed to his chest. 

“This okay?” he asks quietly, and Sokka wonders if the rapid staccato of his heart is as pathetically obvious as he imagines.

“Of course.” Sokka settles back even further, curling his arm around Zuko’s back and stretching his legs to plant his feet onto the coffee table, smirking to himself when Zuko doesn’t say anything. “Okay, continue _What We Do in the Shadows,_ or should we finally start _Ramy?”_

Zuko gives a small shake of his head, humming noncommittally. “Not in a vampire mood, and it’s too late to start something new.”

“Okay, so…?” Sokka questions, clicking past the Hulu icon to settle on Youtube. “We can just watch dumb videos?”

“Yes,” Zuko agrees immediately, so that’s how they end up giggling through everything in the “Marcel the Shell” series, followed by Group X’s “Schfifty-Five,” which Sokka knows all the words to. In turn, Zuko performs “Shoes” with such unerring accuracy and a put-upon valley girl inflection so hysterical ("These shoes are three hundred _fucking_ dollars. Let's get em!") that Sokka is sorely tempted to record it, but knows that Zuko might actually murder him in his sleep if he dared. 

“I can’t believe you still think these are funny,” Zuko groans as Sokka types in the search terms for the next video, unaware of the way he’s been playing with Sokka’s necklace for nearly ten minutes, twisting and turning the thin gold chain between his fingers. “Can you imagine if this came out this year? Cancelled six ways to Sunday.”

“It’s definitely a product of its time, it’s true,” Sokka replies easily, cracking up as the badly dubbed voice fills in for Dumbledore as he reaches into the Triwizard Cup and withdraws Harry’s name. “And now the author has fully disgraced herself. The entire franchise has aged like milk. But no one’s here to judge us for enjoying this terrible parody in all of its problematic splendor.”

“Us?” Zuko echoes dubiously, but chuckles nonetheless at the inanity, or maybe it’s just Sokka’s riotous laughter, the way he shakes beneath Zuko, tightening his hold as if afraid Zuko might shift away. This certainly isn’t the first time they’ve gotten close on the couch, but it feels somehow different tonight, with the moon hanging heavy and bright just outside the double windows of their third floor walkup, with the responsibilities and expectations of the next day and the day after that finally feeling just far enough away that Zuko is able to stop thinking about them as soon as they slither back into his mind. It’s something about the way they lie in a tight embrace on the couch that they purchased together and packed into a loading truck together when they finally made enough combined income to afford a nicer place. Here in this room populated with their shared possessions, framed photographs of them and their friends and families adorning the top shelves of their bookcases, with Zuko’s costume broadswords hung on the far wall beneath Sokka’s custom-made boomerang. It’s something about the way even their friends (and in one humiliating case last year, a few of Sokka's students) tease them endlessly, like they’re just waiting for the inevitable conclusion to their dancing around each other, like there’s something right in front of their faces that they’ve both been too blind or stubborn or afraid to see.

“Okay, I’m changing tracks,” Sokka says, interrupting Zuko’s meandering reverie, pulling up a music video. Zuko swallows heavily, feeling a rather violent flutter low in his gut; the slow, heavy tempo and liquid swoop of the singer’s voice had always affected him pretty strongly, to the point that he sometimes listens to it with his headphones when he jerks off. He doesn’t know if Sokka could possibly know this, but if this night is going where Zuko thinks it might, it may well be a moot point.

This is confirmed when Zuko feels fingers slowly slide into his hair, scratching up the back of his neck and tangling gently in thick strands before combing through them, then doing it again. It feels so good, so _right,_ that Zuko can’t do anything but settle more heavily against Sokka’s chest with a small sigh, his eyes falling shut. 

“I take it you approve,” Sokka remarks quietly, a smile in his voice, but Zuko can also detect, once again, the rapid thump as his heart speeds up, can nearly feel his body temperature rise as Zuko spreads a careful hand across his chest. “How would you feel if I told you I kind of wanted an animal mask like that?" he muses, eyes on the screen. "It's like your own private hotbox.”

“You should get a wolf one,” Zuko replies dreamily, shifting his head slightly, mostly to accommodate Sokka’s careful fingers as they continue to play in his hair, but also just to rub his face against Sokka's broad chest. The combination of the song, the weed, and Sokka is a potent one, and Zuko is too enraptured to pretend otherwise.

“I love when you enable me. I’ll get you a lion-turtle one.”

Trust him to interrupt the moment. Zuko expels a blast of incredulous laughter, looking up at Sokka, whose head is tipped back against the couch, a small smile on his lips. “Okay, Sokka, I’ll bite. The hell is a _lion-turtle?”_

Sokka shrugs, the movement languid. “You know, it just popped in my head and I’m going with it. Probably because you’re, like, fierce and territorial like a lion, but also very stoic and wise, like a turtle. You’ve got an old-ass soul, man.”

“Uh huh,” Zuko says, just watching him, smoothing his thumb across the bump of his exposed collarbone and forcing himself not to look away when Sokka finally opens his eyes, gazing back up at him with an expression that cycles between wary and expectant. “An old-ass soul, huh?”

“Why do you think I’ve stuck around so long?” Sokka drawls, the hand in his hair growing more bold, gathering the stray tendrils that have fallen into Zuko’s eyes, smoothing them back, tucking them behind his ear. “Who else could I learn so much from...it’s all of that knowledge from your past lives, giving you that dignified, nay, _royal_ demeanor that has suitors calling on you all hours of the day and night.” Even in this midst of his nonsensical ramble, he manages to completely fray Zuko’s already fragile nerves by bringing his other hand up to cup his jaw, slide upward to graze gentle fingers across the rough, scarred skin around his left eye.

“Sokka,” Zuko breathes, tingles erupting up and down his spine, heightened tenfold by the heady sensation of the drug in his veins. “What—I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Neither do I. But I might die if I don’t kiss you right now.” Sokka tugs him gently closer as he speaks, so Zuko shifts upward, eyes slipping shut as Sokka’s breath washes over his lips. 

“Don’t die,” he whispers, and then his smile is pressed against Sokka’s mouth—Sokka’s _mouth,_ which parts so easily beneath his, as warm and wet and soft as Zuko has always imagined—their lips clinging together, then separating, then coming together again, and it’s slow and sweet and perfect, so much more perfect than any fantasy could be. _“God,”_ Zuko says shakily, head spinning, as he goes in for another kiss, and another.

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees, biting at Zuko’s lower lip, sucking on it, sweeping his tongue into his mouth to curl against Zuko’s, the kiss growing more deep and insistent with every passing second. Sokka moans softly, a sound that goes straight to Zuko’s cock, and sweeps his hands across Zuko’s shoulders, down his bare arms, and back up to gently cradle his neck and jaw, drinking in Zuko’s answering sighs. “Fuck, you’re just so—” he cuts himself off with another kiss, moving his hands downwards once more to insinuate beneath Zuko’s shirt, circling them around his waist, drawing his fingertips gently up his back. 

Zuko shudders, feeling like he is seconds away from bursting into flame. “We should probably...talk about this,” he grits out, dragging his mouth away from Sokka’s long enough to bury his face in the other man’s neck, licking the skin there before sucking it into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth. Sokka smells like sweat and olive oil and something else that Zuko's never been able to identify, and if he's covertly pressed his face into a stolen hoodie or two in the past to try and figure it out, well, that's his business. “Right? Is this wrong?”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with this,” Sokka returns with a shaky laugh that becomes a moan, and then he’s tugging Zuko into his lap, settling his hands again around his waist as he rolls his hips upward, his teeth flashing in a grin when Zuko cries out, opening his legs wider, bracing his hands against Sokka’s chest as he meets his next thrust eagerly. “This is, like, the most right thing ever.”

“Hmm _ggh,”_ Zuko agrees, because his words simply don’t work when Sokka’s cock slides against his own like this, when Sokka’s broad arms hold him so perfectly in place as they quickly settle into an undulating rhythm that draws unbidden sounds from both of their lips, desperate for more of that delicious friction. There’s spot of wetness spreading across the front of Sokka’s snug grey sweatpants, which is enough to coax a sympathetic spurt of precum from Zuko. He couldn’t stop rutting against Sokka if he tried, so he just digs his knees further into the couch that their friends vacated mere hours ago and grinds downwards, his mouth falling open as he feels himself speed toward his release, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch Sokka lose control. He’s immediately rewarded: Sokka’s tight hold drops down to grab double palm fulls of Zuko’s ass, squeezing as he snaps his hips up and up and up, releasing a sharp cry as he tumbles over the edge, cock pulsing, trapped in his pants. He continues thrusting shakily through it, releasing these breathy little moans that light Zuko up from the inside out until he’s coming too, filling his boxer briefs with his release as he shudders with a trembling sigh, fingers clenched hard on Sokka’s shoulders. 

At that very moment, a loud Youtube ad for Jergens body lotion begins, and they both startle, eyes wide, before looking back at each other and bursting into snorting laughter, _just_ this side of hysterical, with fresh bursts of serotonin still zinging through their veins. Sokka reaches behind him, questing briefly until his hand closes on the remote, which he uses to shut the television off. Without the blue glow, the room falls much darker, with only the soft moonlight to illuminate their flushed faces, gently heaving chests.

“Well,” Sokka begins, trailing his hands up and down Zuko’s back with a thoughtful look. “It’s not a bad lotion.”

Zuko opens his mouth, snaps it shut, shaking his head. God, he can’t stop _smiling._ “How about we don’t talk about lotion.”

Sokka nods, hauling Zuko in for another kiss, groaning self-consciously when Zuko laughs against his lips. “You make me feel like a fool,” he confesses in a low voice, hands gripping Zuko _hard_ midway down his back. Cum is cooling in his pants and it feels gross and it's going to be sticky but he doesn’t care. Zuko’s mouth is the most perfect mouth, out of all the mouths, and it’s on his, right now. He’s still not quite convinced he’s not dreaming. “But I’m not, right? You feel this too?”

Zuko gives a hiccuping little laugh and nods, cradling Sokka’s jaw with both hands as he presses small, insistent kisses across his forehead, drops another on his nose, more on his cheeks, then returns to his lips, and nods again, so close his hair tickles Sokka's shoulders with the motion. “Yeah. Or I’m a fool too. We can be fools together, that’s fine.”

“Do you promise?” Sokka smiles, all too aware that he's a sappy idiot, not caring. He thumbs at Zuko’s chin, then at his bottom lip, pressing it down, watching it fill with blood again as he releases it. He feels a little wild, could lift a cement truck right now, probably.

“I promise.” Zuko’s eyes are wide with emotion, luminous and gold in the moonlight as he looks Sokka over, from the messy, lopsided ponytail to his teeth-bitten neck. Sokka watches in fascination as he flushes deep red, sucking his lip into his mouth as he slides a hand into Sokka’s hair, curling and pulling it until Sokka complies, tilting his head sideways. Zuko just stares at the rising bruises on Sokka’s neck, his breaths coming visibly faster. 

“See something you like?” Sokka asks, and Zuko’s eyes dart back up to his, and he nods. “You like marking me up?”

“Shit,” Zuko breathes, still looking a bit dazed as he trails gentle fingers over the same spot on Sokka's neck. “I hate to say this, but I _really_ want to shower, because I _really_ need—”

“Say less,” Sokka says, grinning toothily at the imitation, and then he’s shifting Zuko against him before he rises to stand with him still in his lap, surprising an honest-to-god _squeak_ out of the shorter man. Sokka nimbly makes his way to the stairs, enjoying the way Zuko’s flush continues down his neck and to his chest, his grip around Sokka’s shoulders tightening automatically, ankles locking together against Sokka's lower back.

“You’re such a showoff,” Zuko grumbles as Sokka carries him upstairs as if he weighs nothing. 

“You like it.” Sokka files this information away for later, the way Zuko’s eyes dilate when he picks him up like this, the way he’s trying so hard to maintain his disapproving expression right now and failing. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

“Watch the door!” Zuko yelps, pressing himself closer to Sokka as he deftly maneuvers them into the bathroom and shuts the door with one foot. “Did you just call me _pretty?”_

“Yeah, what of it?” Sokka questions, kissing his cheek, then depositing him on the floor and turning to start the shower before quickly dropping his pants and shouldering out of his t-shirt. When he drops it and turns back around, Zuko is shirtless and doing this little _shimmy_ to get his pants and underwear down his hips that momentarily shorts out Sokka’s brain. And then, because he’s Zuko, he collects the clothing strewn on the ground and tosses it into the bathroom hamper before giving Sokka a self-conscious smile.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he complains, but there isn’t much ire in it, and Sokka follows him into the shower and closes the curtain. Zuko is facing him, head tipped back to let the water run through his hair, and Sokka immediately plucks his shampoo from the caddy, holding it up with an eyebrow raised. When Zuko nods, Sokka uncaps the bottle and squeezes some into his palm, replacing the bottle and rubbing his hands together as Zuko turns, hair hanging heavy and wet halfway down his back. Sokka takes his time lathering it, scratching gently at his scalp, breathing deep the familiar scent of jasmine and orange. He’s the luckiest man in the world, he’s pretty sure. 

“By the way, I won’t,” he tells Zuko, who hums, confused, turning his head slightly as Sokka continues scrubbing his hair. “Stop looking at you _like that,_ I mean. Not when I know that now it’s allowed.”

Zuko is quiet, but then Sokka turns him so he can put his head back under the spray to rinse away the frothy white lather, and sees Zuko’s pink-tinged cheeks, the way he lips twitch as he watches Sokka watching him. “Okay,” he says finally, and then Sokka gets the conditioner and repeats the process, and when Zuko’s rinsed the last of it away, it’s Sokka’s turn. Zuko is careful and attentive, and Sokka can’t help but steal a few—dozen—more kisses when he’s done, the hot spray of water somehow both intensifying and tempering his raging lust as he clutches Zuko close. Eventually, once the last of the soap has been sluiced away, they’re stepping out of the shower, toweling somewhat dry and stumbling into Zuko’s bedroom, giddy and breathless and desperate again. And then they’re finally horizontal, miles and miles of flushed damp skin pressed against each other, and Sokka is going to lose his goddamn mind if he can’t get his mouth Zuko’s dick right now, and tells him as much as he flips him onto his back and shuffles down until he’s hovering over the engorged flesh, pressed up all tight and lovely against Zuko’s belly. Sokka has to swallow back a rush of saliva as Zuko whines, letting his legs be spread by Sokka’s firm hands, neck straining as his head tips all the way back when Sokka flicks his tongue over the tip of his leaking cock, again and again. 

_“Sokka—!”_

“Mmhmm,” Sokka hums, rubbing a stubbled cheek against the inside of Zuko’s perfect thigh, feeling it flex, then relax, feeling Zuko’s heel thump against his back. “I got you.” He closes his mouth over the head, wasting no time as he sucks him down completely, relishing Zuko’s tremulous little moan as his nose smooshes into Zuko’s fine, soft pelvic hair. He holds himself there for a long moment, swallowing thickly, and then slowly pulls off, his throat feeling a little raw. It’s been a while. That ill-advised thing with Haru, what, two years ago when he visited Katara for those few weeks? But if Zuko’s expression is anything to go by, he’s not _too_ rusty.

“Good?” Sokka asks, taking in his rapidly rising and falling chest, the way Zuko licks his lips as he looks back at him. Zuko surges upward to wrap a hand around the back of Sokka’s neck and bring him in for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, fisting a hand into his hair.

“I want you to fuck me,” he breathes against Sokka’s mouth, his dick hard as a rock and leaking between them, and Sokka very nearly passes away, has to grab the base of his cock and just _breathe_ for a second so he doesn’t actually explode. “Sokka. _Please.”_

_“Yes,_ oh my god, anything you want,” Sokka moans, drawing a hand down Zuko’s chest, tweaking a nipple, then doing it again to hear the frankly adorable sound Zuko makes. “Beautiful, please tell me you have—”

“Yeah, hang on—” Zuko twists beneath him, reaching over to open the drawer of his bedside table, and after a second drops a bottle of lube and gold foil packet into Sokka’s hand. “Is this seriously happening?” he murmurs with quiet glee as he watches Sokka tear open the wrapper with his teeth and roll the condom over his thick cock, and Sokka glances up at him with an exaggerated wink that is, annoyingly, the silliest and hottest thing Zuko’s ever seen.

“Want me to pinch you?”

“You are so corny,” Zuko laughs, rolling his eyes as he spreads his legs wider, pawing at Sokka impatiently. “Get _over_ here.”

Sokka tilts his head at Zuko as slicks up his fingers, and something about the gleam in his eye, the crooked set of his smile, sends a slow, scorching heat through Zuko. Sokka looks _incredible_ like this, fisting himself with short, even strokes as he inhales and exhales sharply through his nose, looking down at Zuko like he’s mapping out the best way to consume him. Zuko opens his mouth to complain again when Sokka’s face fills his vision as he captures his lips in a searching kiss, biting and sucking at Zuko’s lips with small, short growls, and maybe _consume_ wasn’t too far off. And then there are two fingers circling his hole, and Zuko can’t conceal his sharp gasp, pressing his heels into the mattress as he lifts his hips, eager.

“It’s fine. It’s fine, give me both,” he says breathlessly, and Sokka buries his face into his neck with a hoarse moan.

“You sure?”

_“Yes,_ do it— _ohfuck—”_

“Is that okay?”

“Don’t stop, it’s so good, Sokka—” His gasps are subsumed in another kiss as Sokka twists his fingers slowly, plunging them in and out, scissoring them carefully until Zuko’s clawing down Sokka’s back, punching his hips up with a whine of frustration. 

“Fuck, you’re bossy,” Sokka laughs, his voice tight as he positions himself, pressing the head of his cock against Zuko’s hole, both of them gasping as he moves forward, slipping it in. Sokka looks down at Zuko, takes in his dilated pupils, the way he’s clamped his teeth over his lip, small, aborted grunts climbing from his throat. “That wasn’t a complaint,” Sokka informs him softly, straining to hold his hips still as he presses a kiss against Zuko’s lips, coaxing out a shuddering moan. “Come on, Zuko. Tell me what you want.”

“Move,” Zuko orders, voice strained, some of the tension leaving his body at Sokka’s reassurance. His face flushes with pleasure as Sokka immediately obeys, pressing himself in, in, so _tight hot wet perfect_ until his balls are flush against Zuko’s ass, head hanging between his shoulders, arm muscles pulled tight as he braces himself over Zuko and pulls out slowly, until only the tip remains. And then he rocks back in, setting up a pace that’s so unhurried and tender, fucking Zuko so deep that he knows this will have a quick, mind-melting conclusion. It’s all Zuko can do to grip the headboard behind him, tossing his head back on the pillow as Sokka lifts one leg and braces a large hand against his thigh, pressing him further open and changing the angle so that his next thrust makes Zuko arch and cry out, toes curling in pleasure. Sokka grunts in satisfaction and snaps his hips in again, harder, his eyes boring into Zuko’s with fiery intensity, closely tracking every microexpression. He leans in closer, licking at the seam of Zuko’s lips, taking them briefly in a hungry kiss before pulling back.

“Come on, talk to me, sweetheart,” he pleads quietly. “I wanna hear you.”

Zuko opens and closes his mouth, panting, and only manages a brief shake of his head, overwhelmed. Sokka threads a hand into his hair, holding him tight, and doubles the pace of his thrusts for a few strokes before slowing down again, wrenching a deep moan from Zuko’s chest. 

“Please,” Sokka murmurs, leaning over again to pepper small kisses on Zuko’s lips, his temple, his jaw. "Please." He growls softly against his ear when Zuko clenches around him, those scrabbling hands no doubt leaving more marks down his back. 

“D—don’t stop. Don’t stop,” Zuko manages, finally, eyes unseeing as he arches up again, his hair still damp from the shower and sticking to his face as he writhes. “Sokka, jesus _fuck!”_

“Tell me what you want.” Sokka’s close, very close, but he’s honed in like a target on Zuko’s satisfaction, skin thrumming as he glances down to the slick place their bodies meet, then back up to Zuko, who’s watching him with an expression of such openness and want that Sokka swears below his breath and nearly comes right then.

“M’close, just like that—please, _fuck."_ Zuko opens his mouth wide to accept Sokka’s thumb pushing in, _watching_ Sokka as he curls his tongue eagerly around the thick digit and sucking, then biting it, just this side of _too_ hard, which makes Sokka's dick jerk, even while buried this deep inside him. All those years of mutual hidden longing, the fond looks and fleeting touches and fear of rejection, when they could have been doing _this?_ It’d be funny if it weren’t so tragic.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Sokka breathes, dimly aware of the loudly creaking bedsprings, the way apartment 2D probably wants them dead right now. Zuko’s tongue is hot and so wet and he feels lightheaded with the knowledge that this is now a thing they can _do,_ that Zuko is spread so willingly, so gorgeously, beneath him, hoarse cries coming from his open mouth as Sokka fucks him deep and hard. “You wanna come?” Sokka withdraws his hand from Zuko’s mouth and wraps it around his abandoned cock, swiping his wet thumb across the messy tip. That's all it takes, because in the next moment, Zuko freezes, muscles locking as he _whimpers,_ cock pulsing in Sokka’s hand, spurting up his stomach and chest in thick stripes of white. At this enchanting sight, Sokka is done for, feeling his release break over him like a wave beating mercilessly against the shore, huffing broken moans against Zuko’s cheek as his thrusts grow choppy and rushed, wringing out every last drop of pleasure as Zuko’s tremors continue, squeezing tightly around him. 

It takes a while for them both to come down, breathless and entwined and sticky with sweat and cum. Sokka grunts as he withdraws, slipping off the condom and tying the end into a tight knot before tossing it towards Zuko’s trash can. Misses.

He glances back at Zuko, who’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, not missing a thing. “Oops,” he offers sheepishly.

“I’ll let it go, this one time, cuz I don’t think I can move,” Zuko slurs happily, the very picture of temptation with his hair wild and nearly dried in soft waves against the pillow, his arms flung tiredly over his head, with bruises dotted down his neck and chest. He blushes when he sees the way Sokka is looking at him, and reaches out to curl his fingers around Sokka's bicep, tugging him close.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself." Sokka smiles into the slow kiss, fighting the urge to just cuddle up next to him and pass out, maybe after a bit more heavy petting. Instead, he pulls away with difficulty, dropping a kiss on Zuko's forehead before forcing himself out of bed, stooping to deposit the used condom into the trash, then going into the bathroom to pull a hand towel from the rack, dampening it and coming back into the room. Zuko’s right where Sokka left him, eyes shut with a blissed out little smile on his lips, and he hums in gratitude when Sokka wipes them both clean, and then it takes a bit of shifting before they’re both under the covers and curling up close. 

“Youuuu cuddleslut,” Sokka teases, as Zuko pushes a leg between Sokka’s and snuggles into his chest, throwing an arm over his side. 

“You knew this already,” Zuko mumbles, yawning widely against his ear. 

“You're right." Sokka presses a kiss into the top of Zuko’s hair, the way he wanted to just that morning, brushing a hand down his smooth back before cupping his ass appreciatively. “But it’s a whole different ball game when we’re naked.”

Zuko has nothing to offer in response but a quiet snore.

//

It’s 10:47 when Zuko wakes the next morning, according to his wall clock, and he surges up, then hisses, easing himself back down more slowly. He looks down at Sokka, who’s got one arm covering his face, mouth slightly open as his chest rises and falls slowly, and feels a bit of his panic dissipate. He feels so _good,_ even with the deep ache that tells him he will struggle to sit in hard chairs today and tomorrow, and so refreshed it’s almost obscene. Sleep! Who knew?

He leans over, gently tugging Sokka’s arm away, smiling when his face immediately screws up, resistant to the bright sunlight spilling in through the window over the bed. He watches as Sokka huffs and smacks his lips, shifting to his side and curling his legs up beneath the covers, clutching Zuko closer. It's so cute that it actually causes Zuko physical pain.

“Mm-mmh, go back to sleep,” Sokka grumbles, groggy and oblivious, mouth working against Zuko’s chest. Zuko laughs softly, playing with his unruly bedhead, brushing his fingers up against the grain of his buzzed undercut. 

“Sokka, it’s almost eleven.” Sokka sighs, nuzzles into the touch, then slits an eye open, looking up at Zuko with curious concern.

“You slept all night?” Sokka’s always had unfairly sexy morning voice, like two and a half octaves lower than his usual pitch and slightly raspy, and the fact that Zuko now gets to hear it _while_ seeing him sprawled naked in his bed feels almost too decadent to bear.

“Like the dead.”

“Well, now.” Sokka is doing a really bad job of hiding his smugness, and Zuko wants to kiss it off of him, is _going_ to kiss it off of him, and then he’ll make them breakfast and get back to work. Right now, though, with Sokka so warm and solid beside him in bed, right where he belongs, his face open and soft and lined with sleep—he’s determined to enjoy the _right now_ for a little bit longer. “That’s something, right?”

It certainly is. It certainly is something.

**Author's Note:**

> the song that gets zuko all hot and bothered is 'about you' by xxyyxx, and you should def watch the video too
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading, ily! find me on twitter: @kuviraava


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